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SCHILLER'S 

SONG OF THE BELL. 




SCHILLER'S 



SONG OF THE BELL. 

TRANSLATED BY W. H. FURNESS. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY 

C. JAEGER & A. MUELLER. 

fklf 

NEW YORK, 

STROEFER & KIRCHNER. 



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C 3 



VIVOS VOCO. MORTUOS PLANGO. FULGURA 
FRANGO. 

In the earth, now firmly planted, 
Stands the mould of well -burnt clay. 
Come! my lads, your strength is wanted, 
We must make the bell to-day! 

From the heated brow, 

Sweat must freely flow, 
So the work the master showeth; 
Yet the blessing, Heaven bestoweth. 

The work, we earnestly are doing 
Befitteth well an earnest word; 
Then Toil goes on, more cheerily flowing, 
When good discourse is also heard. 



2 



SONG OF 



THE 



BELL. 



So let us then with care now ponder 
What our weak strength originates! 
To him no reverence can we render, 
Who never plans what he creates. 
Tis this indeed that man most graceth, 
For this 'tishis to understand, 
That in his inner heart he traceth, 
What he produces with his hand. 

Take the wood, from pine trunks riven, 
Dry it must be through and' through, 
That the flame, straight inward driven, 
Fiercely strike into the flue! 

Let the copper brew! 

Quick the tin in, too! 
That the tough bell-metal going, 
Through the mould be rightly flowing. 

What in the pit, by help of fire, 
The hand of man is forming thus, 
High in the belfry of the spire, 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



3 



There will it tell aloud of us. 
Still will it last while years are rolling, 
And many an ear by it be stirred, 
With all the mourner's woes condoling, 
And with Devotion's choir accord. 
Whate'er this changing life is bringing, 
Here down beneath, to Earth's frail son, 
Strikes on the metal crown, which, ringing, 
Will monitory sound it on. 

Bubbles white I see appearing; 
Good! the mass is melted now. 
Throw in salts , the fluid clearing, 
They will help it quick to flow. 

Clean too from the scum 

Must the mixture come, 
That in metal pure abounding, 
Pure and full the bell be sounding. 

For, with Joy's festal music ringing, 
It welcomes the beloved child, 

i* 



4 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



Upon his life's rirst weilk, beginning, 

Wrapt in the arms of Slumber mild: 

For him yet rest in Time's dark bosom 

Funereal wreath and joyous blossom; 

A mother's tender cares adorning, 

With watchful love, his golden morning, — 

The years, — they fly like arrows fleet. 

The maiden's plays the proud boy scorneth, 

He rushes forth, the world to roam 

With pilgrim's staff; at last returneth, 

A stranger in his father's home. 

And glorious, in her youthful splendor, 

Like creature come from Heaven's height, 

With cheeks all mantling, modest, tender, 

The maiden stands before his sight. 

A nameless longing then is waking 

In the youth's heart; he strolls alone; 

The tears from out his eyes are breaking; 

Joy in his brothers' sports is gone. 

He blushes as her steps he traces, 

Her greeting smile his heart elates, 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



5 



For fairest flowers the fields he searches, 
Wherewith his love he decorates. 
O tender Longing! Hope how thrilling! 
The golden time of young first Love, 
The eye beholds all heav'n unveiling, 
Revels the heart in bliss above! 
Oh that, forever fresh and vernal, 
First love's sweet season were eternal! 

See how brown the pipes are getting! 
This little rod, I dip it in, 
If it show a glazed coating, 
Then the casting may begin. 

Now, my lads, enough! 

Prove me now the stuff, 
The brittle with the soft combining, 
See if they be rightly joining. 

For when the Strong and Mild are 
pairing, 

The Manly with the Tender sharing, 
The chord will then be good and strong. 



6 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



See ye, who join in endless union. 

That heart with heart be in communion! 

For Fancy's brief, Repentance long. 

Lovely round the bride's locks clinging, 

Plays the virgin coronal, 

When the merry church-bells ringing 

Summon to the festival. 

Ah! the hour of life most festal 

Ends the May of Life also, 

With the veil, the girdle vestal 

Breaks the lovely charm in two. 

For Passion will fly, 

But Love is enduring, 

The flower must die, 

Fruit is maturing. 

The man must be out 

In hostile life striving, 

Be toiling and thriving, ' 

And planting, obtaining, 

Devising and gaining, 

And daring, enduring, 



SONG OF THE BELL. 7 
So fortune securing; 

Then riches flow in, all untold in their mea- 
sure, 

And filled is the garner with costliest treasure; 
The store-rooms increase, the house sprea- 

deth out, 
And reigns there within 
The chaste, gentle housewife, 
The mother of children, 
And wise and sweetly 
The house rules discreetly; 
The maidens she traineth, 
The boys she restraineth, 
And work never lingers, 
So busy her fingers, 
Increasing the gains 
With ordering pains, 

And sweet-scented presses with wealth she 
is filling, 

And thread round the swift humming spindle 
is reeling, 



8 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



And the neat burnished chests, — she ga- 
thers them full 
Of linen snow-white, and of glistening wool, 
The gloss and the shine to the good she 
adds ever, 

And resteth never. 

And the father with look elate, 
From the high far-seeing gable 
Surveys his blooming, broad estate, 
Seeth his haystacks forest -like growing, 
And the barns with their lofts o'erflowing, 
And the granaries, bent with the blessing, 
And the corn as it waves unceasing; 
Boasting, with pride-lit face: 
Firm, as the Earth's own base, 
Gainst all misfortune's strength, 
Standeth my house at length! 
Yet with mighty Fate supernal, 
Man can weave no bond eternal, 
And Misfortune strideth fast. 



( 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



9 



Be the casting now beginning; 
Finely jagged is the grain. 
But before we set it running, 
Let us breathe a pious strain! 

Now knock out the tap! 

God forbid mishap! 
Through the bending cannons hollow 
Smoking shoots the fire brown billow. 

Beneficent the might of Flame, 
When man keeps watch and makes it tame. 
In what he fashions, what he makes, 
Help from Heaven's force he takes. 
But fearful is this force of Heaven, 
When, having all its fetters riven, 
It bursts forth, its own law to be, 
Thy daughter, Nature, wild and free? 
Wo! when once emancipated, 
With nought her power to withstand, 
Through the streets thick populated 
High she waves her monstrous brand! 



IO 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



By the elements is hated 

What is formed by mortal hand. 

From the heavens 

Blessing gushes, 

The shower rushes; 

From the heavens, all alike, 

Lightnings strike! 

Hark! the droning from the spire! 

That is fire! 

Red as blood 

Heav'n is flushing; 

That is not the daylight's flood! 

What a rushing 

Streets along! 

Smoke rolls on! 

The fire column, flickering, flowing, 

Through the long streets swiftly growing, 

With the wind is onward going; 

As from out a furnace flashing, 

Glows the air, and beams are crashing, 

Pillars tumble, windows creaking, 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



t r 



Mothers fleeing, children shrieking, 

Cattle moaning 

Wounded, groaning, 

All is running, saving, flying, 

Light as day the night is shining. 

Through the chain of hands , all vying, 

Swiftly flying, 

Goes the bucket! bow-like bending, 
Spouts the water, high ascending. 
Howling comes the blast, befriending 
The flame it roaring seeks and fans, 
Crackling 'midst the well- dried grains, 
Seizing in the granary chambers 
On the dry w r ood of the timbers, 
And, as if it would, in blowing, 
Tear the huge bulk of the world 
With it, in its flight, uphurled, 
Mounts the flame to heaven, growing 
Giant tall! 
Hopeless all, 

Man to God at last hath yielded, 



12 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



Idly sees what he hath builded, 
Wondering! to destruction going. 

All burnt out 
Are the places, 

Where the tempest wild reposes. 
In the vacant windows dreary, 
Horror's sitting, 

And the clouds of heaven, flitting 
High, look in. 

Ere he goes, 
On the ashes, 
Where his riches 

Buried lie, one look man throws, — 
His pilgrim's staff then gladly clutches. 
Whate'er the fire from him hath torn, 
One solace sweet is ever nearest, 
The heads he counteth of his dearest, 
And lo! not one dear head is gone. 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



In the earth it now reposes, 
Happily the mould is full; 
When our work the light discloses, 
Will it pay our pains and skill? 

Should the casting crack? 

If the mould should break? 
Ah! perhaps, while we are waiting, 
Mischief is its work completing. 

To holy Earth's dark, silent bosom 
We our handiwork resign, 
The husbandmen the seed consign, 
And hope that it will swell and blossom 
And bless the sower, by laws divine. 
Still costlier seed, in sorrow bringing, 
We hide within the lap of earth, 
And hope that, from the coffin springing, 
T will bloom in brighter beauty forth. 

From the belfry, 
Deep and slow, 



14 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



Tolls the funeral 
Note of woe. 

Sad and solemn, with its knell attending 
Some new wanderer, his last journey wending. 

Ah! the wife it is, the dear one; 
Ah! it is the faithful mother, 
Whom the angel dark is bearing 
From the husband's arms endearing, 
From the group of children far, 
Whom she blooming to him bare; 
Whom she on her faithful breast 
Saw, with joy maternal, rest. 
Ah! the household ties that bound her, 
Are unloosed for evermore, 
For pale shadows now surround her, 
Who, the household, ruled o'er! 
For her faithful guidance ceases, 
No more keepeth watch her care, 
In the void and orphaned places 
Rules the stranger, loveless there. 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



l 5 



Till the bell be cooled and hardened, 
Let there rest from labor be; 
And be each as free, unburdened, 
As the bird upon the tree. 

Once the stars appear, 

From all duty clear, 
Workmen hear the vespers ringing; 
Still to Master care is clinging. 

Joyous haste his bosom swelling, 
In the wild and far.-off greenwood, 
Seeks the wanderer his dear dwelling. 
Bleating, wind the sheep slow homeward, 
And the kine too, 

Sleek and broad -browed, slowly trooping, 

Come in lowing, 

To the stalls accustomed going. 

Heavy in 

Rocks the wagon, 

Harvest laden. 

Bright with flowers, 



i6 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



On sheafy towers 

Garlands glance, 

And the younger of the reapers 

Seek the dance. 

Street and market-place grow stiller; 
Round the light, domestic, social, 
Gather now the household inmates, 
And the city gate shuts creaking. 
Black bedighted 
All the Earth is; 
Rest the people unaffrighted 
By the dark, 

Which alarms the bad benighted; 

For the eye of Law doth watch and mark. 

Holy Order, rich in blessing, 
Heaven's daughter, lightly pressing- 
Holds her law all ranks connected. 
Mighty States hath she erected, 
Calling from the wilds the savage 
There to dwell, — no more to ravage, 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



17 



Into human huts she goeth, 
And all gentle customs showeth, 
Weaving that dear tie around us, 
Which to Fatherland hath bound us. 

Busy hands, by thousands stirring, 
In a cheerful league unite, 
And it is in fiery motion 
That all forces come to light. 
Briskly work, by Freedom guarded, 
Both the master and the men, 
Each one in his place rewarded, 
Scorning every scoffer then. 
Labor is our decoration, 
Work, the blessing, will command, 
Kings are honored by their station, 
Honors us the busy hand. 

Gentle Concord, 
Heavenly Peace, 
Hover, hover, 

Ever friendly o'er this place! 

3 



i8 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



Never may that day be dawning 
When the hordes of battle swarming 
Through this silent vale are storming; 
When the heavens, 
Which, with evening blushing mildly, 
Softly beam, 

Shall with flames, consuming wildly 
Towns and cities, fearful gleam! 

Break me up the useless structure, 
It has now fulfilled its part, 
That the work, without a fracture, 
Joy may give to eye and heart. 
Swing the hammer, swing, 
Till the case shall spring! 
That the bell to light be given, 
Be the mould in pieces riven. 

The master wise alone is knowing 
Just when the mould should broken be, 
But w r o! when, streams of fire flowing, 
The glowing ore itself sets free! 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



Blind raging, with the crash of thunder, 
It shivers the exploded house, 
As if hell's jaws had yawned asunder, 
Destruction far and wide it throws. 
When brutal force is senseless storming, 
There can no perfect work be forming; 
When nations seek themselves to free, 
There can no common welfare be. 

Wo! if heaped up, the fire-tinder 
The inmost heart of cities fill, 
Their fetters rending all asunder, 
The people work their own fierce will! 
Then at the bell-ropes tuggeth Riot, 
The bell howls forth a wailing sound, 
Sacred to peace alone and quiet, 
For blood it rings the signal round. 

"Equality and Freedom", howling, 
Rushes to arms the citizen, 
And bloody-minded bands are prowling, 
And streets and halls are filled with men 



2o SONG OF THE BELL. 



Then women to hyaenas turning, 

On bloody horrors feast and laugh, 

And with the thirst of panthers burning, 

The blood of hearts yet quivering quaff. 

Nought sacred is there more, for breaking 

Are all the bands of pious Awe, 

The good man's place the bad are taking, 

And all the vices mock at law. 

'Tis dangerous to rouse the lion, 

And deadly is the tiger's tooth, 

And yet the terriblest of terrors, 

Is man himself devoid of ruth. 

Alas! when to the ever blinded 

The heavenly torch ot Light is lent! 

It guides him not, it can but kindle 

Whole States in flames and ashes blent. 

Joy to me now God hath given! 
Look ye! like a golden star, 
From the shell, all bright and even, 
Comes the metal-kernel clear. 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



Bright from top to rim, 

Like the sun's own beam. 
E'en the 'scutcheon, formed completely, 
Shows its maker worketh neatly. 

Come all! come all! 
My comrades, stand around and listen, 
While solemnly our work we christen! 
Concordia we the bell will call. 
To concord and to heartfelt adoration 
Assembling- here the loving congregation. 

And this its office be henceforth, 
Whereto the master gave it birth: 
High, this low earthly being over, 
Shall it, in heaven's cerulean tent, 
The neighbour of the thunder, hover, 
And border on the firmament. 
And let it be a voice from Heaven, 
Joined with the starry host afar, 
By which high praise to God is given 
And which lead on the crowned year. 



22 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



Its metal mouth alone devoted 

To sacred and eternal things, 

And hourly, Time, still onward flying, 

Shall touch it with its rapid wings. 

To Destiny a tongue affording, 

Heartless itself, befall what may, 

It feels for none, yet shall its swinging 

Attend upon life's changeful play. 

And as away its music fadeth, 

That strikes so grandly on the ear, 

So may it teach that nought abideth. 

That all things earthly disappear. 

Now with strength the rope is lending, 
Raise the Bell from out the ground, 
In the atmosphere ascending, 
Let it seek the realms of Sound! 

Heave it, heave it, raise! 

Now it moves, it sways: 
Joy to us may it betoken, 
Peace, the first sound by it spoken. 



Bar & Hermann, Printers, Leipzig. 

734 ... 




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